


Do Better

by BundledStarPack



Category: Saints Row
Genre: F!Boss realizes feelings for Carlos, F/M, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 02:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7341511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BundledStarPack/pseuds/BundledStarPack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“When Julius formed the Saints my brother was one of the first to join up. He wasn’t as smart as Dex. Or as tough as Johnny, but he was loyal.” It was like he forgot the initial suspicion of the Brotherhood being among them. For no longer did Carlos stand sideways, instead the man no bigger than Daya faced the front. Directly gazing toward the bypassing sights, “He believed in the Saints enough to die trying to defend their church. The Saints need to reclaim the city because, <i>I don’t want</i> my brother to have died for nothing.”</p>
<p> 

The infamous Boss-Carlos train scene rewritten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Better

**Author's Note:**

> I played Saints Row in a, non-conventional order, I suppose. The fearsome, wolf-like Playa of Saints Row 1 was a Hispanic Male: he died in the yacht explosion alongside his step-sister, a newly-initiated rookie whom he interacted with off and on throughout the game. Said step-sister woke from the coma by Saints Row 2 and was tasked with the position of building the Saints from scratch. She did some good things, she did some bad things...things bad enough that a lieutenant (who, was actually a undercover News Reporter) took matters into her own hands and led the Saints into the future. 
> 
> With that being said, the conversation between Daya and Carlos would have gone very different than the talk depicted in the game. As this temporary boss was no more experienced than he was.

Okay, real talk: a smooth car ride could put her to sleep. Just stick her with a friend, give the car some new tires, and a shady hood to drape over her head. And yeah, it would be a easy, chilled out ride until the journey made her shut her eyes. _Never_ failed! Now, a train ride where everything bumped and clattered around them…with all those strangers...maybe even a crying baby…

Hah.

It was quiet enough this time around but, Daya couldn’t stretch her jaws and yawn if she _wanted_. That’s how woke she was. Crazy, huh?

“Why are we meeting on the El?”

The Saint in the large cap hardly moved his neck, “I wanted to get outta the goddamn sewer.”

“Why are you looking away?” I know my breath doesn’t stink, 'least, not more than a fuckin' sewer. Even as she held back from noting this a soft snort was released.

“Incase you’re, ya know, being followed.”

Now came a hardly gaped mouth, yet a clearly understanding nod. If only either of them had known that someone like Angelo would’ve called Carlos out on bullshit. Yes, his hand would’ve met the back of his cap as he sneered, **_‘this isn’t a goddamn_** _spy movie_ **Carlos.’** Personally, Daya only thought how she should’ve worn her Murderbrawl hoodie. It was blue, not purple. And a popped hood could’ve helped all the more with anonymity. For the moment, her dark ponytail swayed with the turn of her head: not even a tatt'd up baby was here.

“Whatcha got?” the shorter Saint went on to ask, voice on level with his cooled one.

“Nothing.”

Her tongue clicked against her fleshy cheek, “ _Bruh_.”

Covered by purple fabric, the wrinkle of Carlos’ brow wasn’t seen. "Listen, I tried everything I could. What was I supposed to do?”

“Try harder.” Such a line wasn’t foreign for Daya to hear from the likes of her own mother. And so it came forth naturally as the answer: even if _without_ underlying substance.

Offense burned clear in brown eyes, Carlos finally performed a gesture worthy to be called a head turn. Each time he hit her up, Shaundi was heard in the background. And as much as he thought the loc’d Saint was alright, he had to bluntly ‘wonder’: what were she and Daya doing? Really cracking down on the Sons of Samedi or playing a game of 'kick the sack'? "Says you."

Her brow on the verge of wrinkling, Daya had no choice but to reflect on her line as useless.

“I’ve heard one guy mention a shipment,” Carlos went on to explain, “But beyond that it looks like we’re back to square one.”

“Which is?”

“…we know they like trucks and tattoos.”

And so came another ‘bruh’ of utmost woe, accompanied with a head hung in _pain_. He was killing her right now – he came close to rolling his eyes at her, right now.

Now was the time for a silence to grow between them. There was the sound of some passenger’s music - they had their earphones on blast. But the sound of the train rolling down the tracks washed out any semi-audible rhythm and rhymes. None of this was comforting. _Back to square one._ Again, Carlos thought over his claim. Without a doubt, he got the feeling this is what the Saints thought as gangs of green, red and yellow first closed in on them. They were torn with no leader then and–what made them any different now than they were before? Daya wouldn’t be able to see, but for the moment, he too looked down. Less for humor, this movement was only for debate.

“Dayanara.”

“Yea?”

“When Julius formed the Saints my brother was one of the first to join up. He wasn’t as smart as **_Dex_**. Or as tough as _Johnny_ , but he was loyal.” 

It was like he forgot the initial suspicion of the Brotherhood being among them. For no longer did Carlos stand sideways, instead the man no bigger than Daya faced the front. Directly gazing toward the bypassing sights, “He believed in the Saints enough to die trying to defend their church. The Saints need to reclaim the city because, _I don’t want_ my brother to have died for nothing.” His voice picked up, right at that moment. The determination, the hint of anger: it was all there.

**Boom**

She had the common sense to know what words would and wouldn't cut it for this sort of confession. Something bigger than a, 'I'm sorry' wasn't even going to be enough for his loss. Silent, her brow wrinkled, her gaze aimed at the gorgeous golden sky. It was the only thing attractive about Stilwater, if she wanted to get real. Meanwhile, there laid as satisfaction as there was _dissatisfaction_ stirring within the only other person sporting purple.

It was all sorts of relieving to get such honesty off his chest, but the lack of commentary convinced him he probably shouldn't have bothered saying anything. _Forget it_ , he prepared to utter such a order. Figuring that a, _I'm going to keep doing my best, ok?_ would make him seem less pissed.

“I wanted to be a superhero.” Already, Daya had no doubt that Carlos figured she was high for spouting this. “When I was little…er.” A drip of comedy was a must for such a serious moment, “I thought even if I didn’t have super powers I could just use my head or muscles like Batman learned how, or some shit.” She made sure this was not spoken dreamily or enthusiastically, as though there was a reputation to keep even when it came to such confessions.

"So. Um. My dad died when he was coming home one night and, I kept askin’ mami at the funeral why didn’t somebody like, Batman or Spiderman or just…Superman _save him_ , ya know?” she put her leg on the clear seat among her, looking up Carlos' way, “Then I started to think, what _IF_ one of them saved him, beat up all the bad guys that lived in the Row? Like. How tight would that be?” Carlos didn't have to feed her imagination with a reply, because Daya knew already how amazing such a life would've been. Nonetheless, it didn't provoke the corner of her lips to raise up or, for her brow to lighten with its crease.

The sunset fell on Carlos' skin. Highlighting his face... his arm that held the cross with the **S**. Daya never stared too hard on his ink but, now was there coming realization, he got that for his brother...among the blood and guts, stomach fluttered in her stomach. Something that was chosen to be ignored as dark eyes rolled to the horizon.

“So when Julius made the Saints to just, get rid of the bad guys…the Saints…for me…were kinda like…the _BASIC_ idea of the heroes I wanted for Third Street? That’s why I’m here and not at Freckle Bitches.” A small laugh came from her without control. That food-making shit wouldn’t _ever_ be her thing again.

“We gotta do better.” Carlos replied sooner than expected. “We gotta get the Saints up to power or it’ll just fall apart again, Daya.”

In such a short time, the butterflies returned with a fucking vengeance. Deadlier. With bright wings laced **knives** as a proper punishment for her former ignorance. He looked into her eyes so honestly, words spoken straight from the heart once more. As the butterflies ripped her apart without mercy, Daya breathed in, breathed out, to keep herself from floating into the sky.

“uh…huh…” 

How ideal was it for the train to stop now? “Let’s get to it!” Alive and undefeated, she spoke clearly. And this, oh-so-productive meeting, was concluded with the gentle clash of their knuckles. On the heels of her sneakers she wasted no time hopping out. Surging with empowerment, **motivation**.

"Carlos!” With one last thing to say, her arm extended to the air-

_We’re going to make the Row recognize us._

_We’re going to be badder than the Playa._

_We’re still alive, doing this shit for a reason._

-yet as he looked to her, her arm froze mid-air. With those clueless, soft brown eyes staring onto her, Daya thought **against** every motivational thing she wanted to say. It was probably corny shit…no, definitely corny shit.

"Go Third Street, go Third Street, Go!” Spontaneous, this mess burst from her lungs instead. No salute to him, just two rose arms with a finger pointed to the sky. Carlos’ expression shifted from thoughtfulness to–

She didn’t get to see as the metal doors clamped shut.

And he didn’t get to see how she shook her head in disbelief and disappointment at her own damn self.


End file.
